


A Course of Study

by Hippy_ki_yay



Category: Enola Holmes (2020)
Genre: Body Worship, Brother/Sister Incest, Consensual Underage Sex, Don't Like Don't Read, F/M, Femdom, First Kiss, First Time, Hand Jobs, Incest, Incest Kink, Kissing, Nipple Play, Sex Education, Shameless Smut, Sibling Incest, Smut, Sweet/Hot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-03
Updated: 2021-01-03
Packaged: 2021-03-13 13:33:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28529271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hippy_ki_yay/pseuds/Hippy_ki_yay
Summary: Enola is a studious, curious girl. She can't stand knowing anything less than everything. And if it is a topic she is socially discouraged from learning about? Well, all the more enticing for her, then.So, when the Holmes siblings investigate a perverted crime, Enola is endlessly curious about what happened, and frustrated with her lack of knowledge. How on earth could one's testicles turn blue, and will Sherlock stop smirking at her like that? Surely it was a logical question, and yet he acted like she was a child asking why the night was dark. Whatever shall a girl do?Study the art of sex, of course, with her brother as her willing teacher and specimen.---Read the tags!!! This is pure, shameless, incestial smut. Merry Christmas y'all
Relationships: Enola Holmes/Sherlock Holmes
Comments: 15
Kudos: 81





	A Course of Study

**Author's Note:**

  * For [GoldenJezebel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoldenJezebel/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Be My Guide](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27113708) by [GoldenJezebel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoldenJezebel/pseuds/GoldenJezebel). 



> Inspired by the first shernola fic I ever read, "Be My Guide" by @goldenjezebel !!! Metallica on repeat, whiskey cake, and that amazing piece of fanfiction are what have lubricated the way for my own speal of nasty, naughty smut. As in: I N C E S T it's very fucking clear. We're not pussyfooting around it, and this story is ALL about the explicitly taboo and sexy, so please use common sense and discretion when choosing whether to read it. Enjoy if you are inclined to, and please leave a comment if you can. (Also, I AM working on several little ficlets inspired by "Pine Cone Child" by @jokeringcutio, but this got finished first and I saw no reason not to share it)

"And I don't know!" She screamed, voice clearly distressed. 

It brought them both to a pause. Enola was panting, chest rising, hair mussed from its bun as if the sheer power of her emotions had swept through the room like a strong wind. Her cheeks were flushed and her hands were held across her body, but she did not look ashamed. Instead, her eyes met his with fire in them, a sense of determination and desperation all at once clear in her gaze. 

"I don't know," she repeated, calmer. His attention stayed rapt upon her. "I admit it, brother, my knowledge of this subject is almost completely blank. How should I know of such ailments? The term itself sounds... vulgar." 

Sherlock tipped his head, indicating agreement. She was right. The common phrase of having "blue balls"-which the culprit of their latest case had used as an excuse for blashemizing a quite unfortunate Mrs. Arnett's homegrown gourds-was indeed an odd, and vulgar, one. He personally thought that it was a silly term for a silly ailment. But their culprit hadn't, clearly, and had been quite put out when Sherlock had not given the anticipated manly chuckle of understanding. 

"I suppose it is more preferable that you don't-or didn't-know of it. I would hate to think of how you would have been informed of such a thing..." he trailed off, brows furrowing at the thought of her being educated in the seedier ways of speech by the sailors and newsies she spent her time with on the docks. It was a relief to his brotherly soul, then, that Enola was utterly confused and disgusted (if upset by her lack of knowledge) by the acts they had investigated. 

"I know what sex is," she told him cooly, arms crossing further. She knew that the term had to do with such things, though there was still confusion in her eyes. And now hurt. Oh, but she thought he was insinuating- 

"I know, dear, I know," he chuckled. She had made it quite clear that she didn't need "the talk" when he had steeled himself and pulled her aside after a visit from the infatuated Viscount Tewkesbury. "And it is good that you are not floundering in the dark, nor shame faced about it, like most of your peers would be. But, your knowledge is... conventional. Purely theoretical." 

Enola's face immediately changed to dismay and disgruntled curiosity. Her mind, her knowledge of a subject, merely conventional? It was unacceptable to her, he knew that. And if Sherlock was playing with what he knew of her character to gain the weird satisfaction of this conversation, well... they both knew that as well. 

And neither was backing down. 

"Conventional, you say? That is not a nice thing to hear, Sherlock. I don't like to be anything less than expert. This is a perplexing problem, indeed. Conventional..." she repeated the word again, looking aside, sneering with the mass amount of distaste for ignorance she somehow managed to store in her small body. It made Sherlock grin. 

"I am going to need a teacher, lessons, a course of study," she declared, looking directly at him once more. He quickly schooled his expression and met her eyes head on. 

"And I suppose, as your dutiful guardian and deductive journeyman, I am expected to provide this for you?" 

She nodded. 

"Very well, I will make arrangements. Be patient for a few days, consider what you already know," this he delivered with a cool voice but a glint in his eyes he knew she saw. 

The game they were playing was arguably more vulgar than the acts they had been entreatied to investigate that week. At least, according to society. But neither of them cared; this slowly speeding dance was one that had been going on since she had agreed to stay with him, only now they were upping the ante. Flirting to something more tangible (and illegal). The thought of Enola "studying" the art of sex, using his own body, felt utterly satisfying and perfectly punctual as the next step. 

Sherlock got to work arranging their first lesson. 

\--- 

"Enola," Sherlock called out as he walked into his-their-flat. His winter overcoat, soaked with rain, was stowed away, as were his mudded shoes. When no answer came after his hat and scarf were shed as well, he called out again. 

"Enola!" 

"Oh! Yes? You're home!" 

His sister appeared at the end of the hall, stepping out of her bedroom. She wore a blue linen dress and a paint-smeared smock: she had been working on a painting, and probably lost in a colorful haze of concentration, which is why she hadn't answered him at first. She walked forward to give him a welcoming kiss to the cheek and a hug, that which he returned heartedly. The only person in the world that Sherlock truly, sincerely, and freely gave affection to, was his sister. 

"How were the crowds? The bank is always so busy around midday, I don't know how you can stand to go then." 

"It was quite crowded, yes, but my appointment was brief. And punctual, might I add," he stated. He leveled her a mock glare, earning a chuckle at the habitual lateness he always made fun of in her. "But I'm home now, dear. And I believe that we have business to attend to." 

"Oh?" Enola's brow tilted up, and her body stepped away from his. Curiosity and excitement resided in her eyes, and she didn't bother to school her emotions for him. It warmed Sherlock's heart. 

"Yes, your newest course of study: human sexuality. Come to the parlor in approximately fifteen minutes, and we shall begin with the first lesson." 

Truthfully, Sherlock needed those few moments of time to collect himself. He was looking forward to their lesson with a certain... eager strain. Had been all day. But there was an intrinsic need to go slowly, to ease into this irreversible shift in their knowledge of each other. Somehow, Sherlock knew that he would gain just as much knowledge from his sister during this as she would from him, despite her being a virgin (and wasn't that motivation enough to teach her thoroughly and slowly? Yes, he would be the perfect guide, the perfect test dummy; he would be all to her). 

Sherlock poured himself two fingers of Brandywine, taking it in several sips before stalking to the silken chaise shoved into the corner of the room. He removed the map of Westside London from its lazy sprawl across the fabric; there would be space to sit-or lie-just in case. 

"Oh, Mr. Holmes, I hope I am not late for class. I came as quickly as I could!" 

He felt a grin stretch his lips at the lilt of Enola's voice behind him. She had the annunciation of an innocent, eager schoolgirl, but the look of hunger in her eyes when he turned around was anything but juvenile. He was no creaking, grey schoolmaster, and  _ she _ was certainly not just there for knowledge of the "conventional" kind, as had been made clear by her disdain a few days prior. 

"Ah, Missus Holmes, right on time. Do come in, we have much to accomplish this evening." 

Enola stepped fully into the room, flashing him a knowing look as he took in her appearance. Gone was the usual (if outdated and misplaced, though he knew she didn't care about that sort of thing) linen dress and smock. Her thin torso was tightly wrapped in lavender fabric, a dully shining taffeta, ribbing stripes of black running along the natural curves of her body and highlighting them. Her breasts were clutched high to her chest by the starched clothing, but he could tell she had forgone the corset she loathed; he did not mind at all.  _ That _ was his Enola, and she was beautiful. It only made him wonder what other underthings she had eschewed....

"What will be the topic of our lesson today?" She asked, coming to a standstill on the opposite side of the Persian rug on their floor as him. 

"Tonight, we will simply explore your preexisting knowledge of the desires of the flesh. What can you tell me, Enola?" 

"Well..." she paused, pursing her lips and taking time to think. He waited with baited breath to hear what delicious words would fall from his sister's mouth. "Sex is for the purpose of procreation. Or pleasure. It is discouraged before marriage, as is infidelity, and yet... it still happens." 

They both smirked at that, recalling just how many cases they had worked that involved secret lovers and acts shunned by avid churchgoers (and that didn't even include all of the murder). He motioned for her to elaborate more, and she nodded, seeming to loosen in posture just slightly.

"Virginity is prized highly, nae, expected, in women, yet not so much in men. They may do whatever they please with their dicks." 

Sherlock chuckled at her suddenly foul mouth as well as her words. "Are you sure, dear Enola? I dare say the act that brought upon this entire lesson was a man doing as he wished with his dick, and being arrested for it." 

She pouted, not in possession of a good rebuttal. Sherlock moved closer to her, coming to stop when the tips of his stocking-ed toes disappeared under her skirts. 

"That was a good overview of the societal views of sexuality, we need not spend much time on that. But what do you know of the act itself? Tell me how sex works, Enola." 

She heard the challenge for what it was: explain in accurate, mature words what sexual intercourse was, without falling victim to bouts of stammering, blushing, or broken eye contact. If she could not do it, then she certainly was not ready to be having this lesson (and all that it entailed). It was a test, a reassurance for both of them that she was, indeed, old enough for  _ this.  _

"Sex is the act of pleasuring the genitals with another person. Alone, it is masturbation. Sex between a man and woman, full intercourse, involves the penis penetrating the vagina. If seed is released inside of the woman, she might fall pregnant. The stimulation or placement of genitals in other places than that is for purely sensational purposes, not to make a child."

Enola finished with a confident tip of her head; her voice had been steady throughout, eyes locked onto his. He knew that her unflinching knowledge and clear explanation was a product of their mother's tutelage. 

"Good," he praised. His tongue wet his lips as he considered his next words. "You understand the basic act as well, and are not afraid of it. I'm glad. Now, I would like you to show me the pleasure points of the body. As you explained, sex can be for the purpose of procreation, but we needn't focus on that. This is about sexuality, about pleasure and love." 

Enola's pupils blew open slightly when he instructed her to "show" him. This was where it began. With a quiet breath, she raised her right hand to her lips, touching them softly with two fingers. 

He hummed his approval and she smiled slightly behind her fingertips. Next, her hand slowly slid down her chin to her throat, tapping at the hollow and then the side; he hummed once more, eyes rabid upon her.

The dress wrapped around her ribs shifted as she drew in a deep breath, her hand moving to trace the line of her cleavage and over a soft round of flesh. He breathed with her, his gaze eagerly taking in the pale skin her low cut evening gown displayed. Having her touch herself in front of him... it was indescribable. 

Enola shuddered, her eyes meer slits as her hand migrated further south, those two fingers resting somewhat shyly on her skirt atop where the seat of her drawers would be (if she were wearing any. He still wondered). Her hand brushed over her right thigh and hip, making its way back upwards before reaching her breast again. She cupped it softly, her face pinching just slightly.

Her eyes suddenly opened and she removed her hand from herself completely, holding it with a slack arm a few inches from her side. She was looking above his left shoulder, breathing quickly. It was clear that being watched had some effect on her. 

"Good," he repeated again. It was all he could seem to say to her tonight. "You know most of the places. But do you know the pleasure points of a man? They may be in a similar location to women, but the feeling of them can be quite different." 

"I- I suppose," she said, eyebrows screwing in deliberation. Her eyes moved back to his and he delighted at the pink in her cheeks and the openness on her face. 

"Perhaps a more... hands-on demonstration would help you," he said carefully. 

Her body tightened, but it wasn't disgust: anticipation. She nodded quickly, her gaze moving from his face to his shoulders and chest. Almost imperceptibly, she swayed towards him, as if her body was so eager to get on with the demonstration that it couldn't heed any attempt at patience. 

Sherlock certainly didn't mind. He beckoned her forward, gently guiding her hands towards his upper body. She came willingly, although there was something unsure in her eyes, a carefulness that spoke bounds of her inexperience. Yet, she was willing and searching, searching deep in his face for the guidance she needed. 

He stroked the backs of her hands gently, enjoying the sensation of her soft skin. "How familiar are you with a man's body?" 

"N- not very. I only know what I have observed, and what I have heard. Never.... felt." After a pause, she moved her stare from his necktie to his eyes. "Yes, truly, I am more familiar with women," Enola breathed, her hands hesitating over the lapels of his jacket. 

"As is only natural," Sherlock conceded. He had removed his own hands and stood stalk still, waiting with the utmost confidence for her to finish her silent deliberation. He could, and would, wait for her to make the move on her own. This was  _ her  _ education, after all. 

Enola's small, white hands finally landed on his jacket. Her fingers spread, flexed, pressed slightly until the human warmth of his body reached her. 

Sherlock expected her hands to continue moving, but they stayed exactly where they rested. Upon moving his gaze towards her face, he caught the deep furrow of her brow and the worry of her mouth. Curious desire in her eyes. The conflicting emotions, he realized with a slight lurch, made her normally delicate face look more like his own. 

She was a Holmes. She was his sister. 

And yet.... she was alluring like this, so very entrancing. The thought of her studying him, becoming as familiar with his body as her own: it made him feel depravedly warm. Like the depths of hell had risen up to tickle at the soles of his feets for his thoughts, and yet he did not care. He never had, and she had made it clear that she didn't either. 

Still, this was not something they had done before, their previous antics being mostly heavy flirting. Of the talking and eye-fucking variety, no actual touch besides quiet embraces. Add to it that he was sure they were both fairly certain that Enola would finally lose her virginity to her older brother by the end of this "course of study"; well, he was as patient as ever with her hesitance. 

"Sherlock," Enola whispered. Still standing, touching without moving, still staring. "Sherlock, what am I to do?" 

"Darling," he sighed softly, capturing her hands on his chest with his own once more. "You may do whatever your heart desires. I want you to simply explore, do what you please; show me what you're interested in learning more about. You'll know when you find a place of pleasure for me." 

Enola nodded, squeezing his thumbs-that he'd poked into her small grip-before pulling her hands away from his. Sherlock let his hands fall back to his sides, again standing patiently for her to examine. 

"I would like.... I would like to remove these," she finally said quietly, running her fingers over the layers of clothing on his chest. 

When he made no move-making it clear this was for her to do if she wanted it-Enola slowly drew her hands to his shoulders, slipping them underneath the open jacket and working it down his arms. He did the required movements to remove the garment and toss it aside, but immediately went back to his previous pose once it had landed on the chaise. 

She chased the motions of his arms with her eyes, her fingers following and seeking out the contours of muscle beneath his white shirt. Try as she might, Enola's grip around Sherlock's bicep could not fully close; it left a warm thrill in his stomach. She seemed rather awed as well, squeezing and twisting her hand to explore him. 

The waistcoat came off next, each button undone with steady, if slow-moving, fingers. Once it fluttered to the ground, the teasing, eager tilt to her face that came about whenever they were toying with each other finally returned. It was as if Enola realized that, if she had managed to get this far, she could go farther. 

His necktie went next, and he shuddered when her warm fingertips touched underneath his chin. 

Enola hummed at this, curious, and traced a line from his jaw to his Adam's apple, down the side of his throat and then back up to under his chin again. Her calculating gaze was cataloguing his every breath and twitch, indeed comparing the reactions of a woman (herself) to the reactions of a man (him).

If it were anyone else, Sherlock would have calmed his reaction and stayed stoic. But not with Enola, never with Enola. He let himself sigh and sway and enjoy the softness of her touches, the likes of which he seldom felt for as long and as steady as this. 

Then she was moving again, removing his buttoned shirt. She had a delighted, almost wondrous expression on her face when he was left in just a tight flannel undershirt, tucked into his trousers. Sherlock knew that it highlighted the muscles in his upper body even more; besides it was something new and intimate for her to see him-or any man-practically naked. 

"I would advise you to remove my trousers first, lest I get tangled," he whispered when she slipped a warm hand into the collar of his underwear. It was hard for him to feel her pull away, so affectionate and heady was the touch of her palm over his heart, but then her deft fingers were once more undoing his buttons.

The tweed trousers dropped lower on his hips, her shaking hands aiding them in their descent the rest of the way down his legs. He shivered slightly at the rush of air. It was warm in their apartment, the fire crackling nicely as it had been all day, but the feeling of bareness and the moist of her breath against his thigh as she stood again caused him to twitch like a rabid hound. 

His sister stepped back to look at him. He stood there-stockings, underpants, undershirt, all made of woolen flannel-staring back at her. The rising erection in his pants was clearly visible, yet it didn't feel perverted or inappropriate in the situation. She certainly didn't seem to mind, simply drinking in the entirety of his form, excited cock and all. 

"Oh, Sherlock, you are beautiful..." 

It made him blush; the words were unexpected. Him, beautiful? His body (not his brain), beautiful? Not an utterance he had heard before, but it went strangely to a pleased part of his brain.  _ Enola thought he was beautiful.  _ That, he would never rebute. He liked that she thought so; the way she stared at him with clear appreciation was intoxicating. 

“Turn around.”

The hesitance of before was gone. In its place was fascination and hunger, as well as a bark of command in her voice that his brain processed with a tingling sensation (or perhaps that was his lower brain). He complied, slowly spinning 180 degrees so that his broad back was facing her. There was no thought of disagreeing or doing anything else; Enola had him wrapped around her fingers, and they both knew it. The thought could have been scary, considering the liability it could be in their profession, yet… it wasn’t. There was nothing but love, comfort, and trust in how he attended to her every need and want, and how she, in return, paid him back in full with her nurturing and company. They were a perfect pair, balanced and equal in every way (no matter what society would like to dictate). 

Tonight, though…. Tonight, Sherlock was starting to understand that she would be in charge of the lesson in more ways than he had previously anticipated. It sent another warm tingle through his body. 

Suddenly, her frame was plastered against his much larger one, arms locked tight around his waist and head buried in between his shoulder blades as she simply embraced him for a moment. Then, she stepped back and let her hands press all over him. Over his shoulder blades, into his hair, up his arms and down his ribs, even trailing down to give his bottom a firm squeeze. 

Both of them chuckled at that, Enola giving another grope before gripping the backs of his thighs. Sherlock cursed under his breath; he was shocked-but endlessly pleased-by her confidence, and also literally tickled by her fingers scrabbling over his sensitive flesh. 

Enola’s forehead hit the middle of his back as she continued to explore the backside of his pelvis. The experience was a new one for the both of them, which the brother of the sibling duo had not anticipated. A grip of the shoulders was the extent of the attention that had been paid to his backside before, so to feel his sister thoroughly cataloging his ass cheeks, well. It was unexpectedly pleasant. Sherlock felt pleased with her dedication to taking the time to truly study the male form which she knew so little about, despite other, perhaps more enticing,  _ offerings _ he had.

Then again, maybe she was enjoying this, if judged by her panting breaths. Who was he to say?

Her next instruction, though, made him splutter. “Bend over? Enola…”

It was not a whine in his voice, it absolutely wasn’t, but she giggled anyways. Oh, she knew what she was doing to him, definitely. Seemed to delight in it, even. 

“Really, Sherlock. I can assume that most women have been, or will be, seen in that position at some point in their lives, so why should a man not be seen in that position as well? You’re still wearing clothing, anyways, and it’s not like you didn’t bend over to pick up a newspaper earlier today.”

He huffed, but did as told after a moment of hesitation. He really hadn’t had this much attention paid to how the other side of his body looked, ever. 

Enola’s quiet groan had his cock thickening more with guiltily aroused blood. It was a heady feeling, the caress of her eyes against him, boring past his woolen garments and seeming to penetrate within to his soul. He felt bare, exposed, safe and warm and loved. 

He only hoped that he could make her feel the same. 

She hadn’t told him that he could stand straight again, but she didn’t complain, either. As he turned around, Sherlock caught sight of his absolutely magnificent sister; her cheeks were flushed, her hair slightly disheveled like she’d run her hands through it, and her chest was heaving. He had that effect on her? Simply looking at him, touching his clothed body, did this to her? He felt himself smile, and saw her return it. 

“I meant it,” she whispered, seeming to read his mind (or, perhaps, his eyes). “You really are beautiful, Sherlock. Now off with the rest of that.”

Compliance was not a trait often associated with the Holmes family, but this night seemed full of firsts and exceptions. Sherlock stripped himself of his undergarments for Enola at a moderate pace, not exactly putting on a show but not rushing to get it done, either. He dropped the last piece-his left stocking-to the floor and stood before her. 

Enola’s eyes were huge. She drank him in, gaze falling from his chest to his stomach down to hook on his cock. It swayed slightly, as if pleased by her attention (it was; _ he _ was). 

“Enola,” Sherlock called, shivering when her ravenous eyes locked with his. He suddenly felt inexplicably lucky that he was the only person to have seen her like this. “I believe we were pointing out the pleasure points of the body. No need to get distracted.”

His words were delivered sternly, like a schoolmaster’s would be, but his eyes held mirth and pleasure. Of course he didn’t mind if she got “distracted” with him, not at all. But the pretense of this being an educational lesson made it all the more fun for them. 

“Of course,” she replied, stepping into his space once more. 

Her small hands cupped the back of his neck, drawing him downwards towards her face. Sherlock went willingly, breath forcibly shallow. 

Their lips had brushed once before, a demure and half-drunk kiss at a banquet they had been investigating, but it had been too quick to even register then. A millisecond, a short enough time to call into doubt whether it had even happened. 

This… this was not a fleeting kiss. She held tightly to his neck, nearly hanging herself by the arms as she pressed their lips together. He clung to her just as tightly, gripping her small body and meeting every kiss she bestowed upon him. He even lifted her slightly, pressing her body to his and straightening his back so that she was hefted a foot off the ground, nothing but his naked muscle keeping her from crashing down again. 

When Enola pulled away from him, he could see the light of desire in her eyes. She looked down at his arms around her, glancing back up to meet his stare with an incredulous look and a lick of her lips. He was on her again after that, showing her exactly how passionate kissing was done. 

It could have been minutes or hours that they shared kisses of every kind imaginable, from soft and fluttery to deep and wet; they explored it all. Every bit of knowledge that Sherlock had, he imparted unto her, and she demonstrated in turn what she learned. 

Eventually, though, his erection proved too much to ignore. He eased away from her slightly, holding her at arm’s length-but still very much in contact, he couldn’t ever bear to let her go now-lest he start rutting against her midsection and spoil her best dress. 

He gazed down at her, starting off slowly. “Enola, there is a certain limit that a man has in regards to being in an actively aroused state. After so long, he has to… take care of his needs, or it becomes quite painful. Now, what that man did to the vegetables was wrong, but it is true what he said. If he hadn’t done something-albeit it should have been in the privacy of his own home-then the pain would have been astronomical. Having ‘blue balls’ refers to the state of intense aching one’s testicles acquire after a prolonged state of arousal with no relief.”

She nodded slowly, taking in the explanation to the term that had finally triggered the culmination of their relationship. Her eyes flitted down to where Sherlock’s cock jutted out from his body, deep red at the tip and soaking wet. 

“Does… are you in pain, Sherlock? Was I hurting you?”

He smiled kindly at the fear in her voice, pulling her in for another kiss. 

“No, you’re not directly hurting me, certainly not intentionally,” he murmured against her sweet, pink mouth. “I’m a grown man, I know my limits. But, yes, it is coming upon the time where something  _ more _ than kissing needs to be done. Whether by you or by me, I leave it up to you, my dear.”

“Me,” Enola immediately insisted, sounding for all the world like a petulant child demanding to help with a chore they didn’t yet understand.

“Alright,” he breathed, guiding their bodies so that he was lying across the chaise with her perched beside him, eyes rabid on his every move and flex. “I am going to lie here, as your specimen of study, and let you do as you please. It is lucky that I have much patience, it will allow you to take your time.’

“Patience?” she asked him, biting her lower lip in a manner she certainly didn’t realize was attractive, but made his knees weak; it was lucky he was lying down now. 

“Well, I suppose stamina is more of what I possess. But, yes, patience. In this situation, anyways. I have all the time in the world for you…” he trailed off. They shared an intimate smile, before she gave a decisive nod of her head and stood up. 

Sherlock forced himself to relax and lie still, awaiting her first move. She stood over him like a surgeon at an operating table, surveying his body in what would be a clinical manner if not for the heat in her eyes and the clenching of her fingers that gave away her desire. Once again, Sherlock felt unbelievably pleased with her desire for him: their mutual desire, in fact, being actively stoked to a roaring flame by them both. 

“The pleasure points, I would like to review them again,” she announced softly, hands hovering over his midsection. 

He blinked his agreement, lighting up inside when even that simple movement caught her eye and was understood. His lovely, genius little sister. Her hands landed on his temples, fingers slithering into his hair before giving a sharp tug to the curls. 

The motion made him gasp; he hadn’t been expecting that, truth be told. But it felt  _ very  _ nice. Hair was definitely a pleasure point for some, though he hadn’t known it was one for himself before this, much like his behind. Enola was certainly bringing out qualities within himself he had no clue he possessed. 

Next, she touched his lips with her soft fingertips, thumbing at the swell of his lower lip. Her eyes shone darkly when his tongue slowly, sedately touched her finger, giving it a small puppy kiss. She pushed further into his mouth, the first two knuckles of her forefinger disappearing into the velvet darkness of his mouth much like her tongue had earlier. 

She pulled her finger free with a wet sound, trailing its cool saliva coating down his chin and throat to press briefly into his pulse point. Sherlock felt the millionth rush of heat that night-even if it seemed impossible to get more aroused-and breathed in deeply, trying to make her feel his heartbeat. 

It was evident in her smile that she had. They stayed stock still for a while, staring, analyzing, as his blood rushed from his thumping heart up into his head and back down towards his erect cock. Her nostrils flared, her breathing pattern syncing with his before she moved on to her next target. 

Enola’s eyes were wide and curious as she brushed her fingers over a dark nipple. His gut clenched at the pleasure that rolled through him-which she readily picked up on-and he drew in a deep breath. It expanded his chest, as if presenting himself to her. Enola took the invitation, pinching and flicking and pulling and rubbing to her heart’s content. 

“Why- why the focus on this particular area, dear?” he asked her. The amount of time she had spent playing with his nipples was unexpected, but oh so torturously pleasurable. It made the rest of his body feel taught and over-sensitive where his skin rested on the velvet of the couch. 

“Which particular area, Sherlock? If you can’t say it, maybe it shouldn’t be touched…” She trailed off, removing her hands to rest them on her taffeta covered hips. 

Holding back his groan of disappointment-and reluctant pleasure at her control-was quite difficult, but he managed. She stared down at him, a teasing smile on her lips. The words she had spoken to him were a parrot of what he had been telling her earlier; it was clear to him that, now, it was  _ her _ turn for a jovial sort of control and she wanted to make sure he knew this. 

“My nipples, sister.” Her eyes darkened at the acknowledgement of their technical relationship. “Why do you touch my chest and nipples so much?” 

She hummed, smoothing a cool hand over his forehead before returning to her previous ministrations. 

“I am finding-and working with-the various pleasure points of the male body, aren’t I? Your breast is so different, yet so similar, to a woman’s. I can’t help but be fascinated!” So saying, she cupped his pectorals in each hand and gave them a firm grope.

While he had his suspicions that part of her motivation for this prolonged liminal pleasure was simply to see him squirm, Sherlock also could not deny the clear interest in her eyes. She was indeed fascinated with his bulges of muscle and tough tissue that took the place to her accustomed soft fats. 

“But, I suppose I’ll move on. For now.”

He sighed when her fingertips finally left his stiff, nearly aching nipples and traveled further down his body. They briefly dipped into his navel and then skated to the side over his ribs, causing him to glare at her in warning. She raised her hands in mock frustration, agreeing not to tickle purposefully him. 

Because her touch had left his body-and because he was allowing himself to get lost in her loving, playful, delighted eyes-the hand on his cock was a surprise, to say the least. Sherlock bucked his hips mindlessly, accidentally throwing her off. 

“Oh! I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you!” She rushed out, looking concerned. He realized that she thought his reaction had been one of pain, instead of shocked relief. 

“No, no, it was a good thing,” the brother of the duo breathed. “I just wasn’t expecting it.” 

“You, the great Sherlock Holmes, did not anticipate a very obvious move? Interesting… Tell me, does sex have the ability to make one lose one’s normal senses and qualities?”

“Mmm, yes. I-” he paused, wetting his lips as that small, cool, marvelous hand touched his cock again. Enola squeezed him experimentally with one hand while the other trailed nails up and down his thigh. “Sex often has the effect of a strong liquor. Some senses, the ones concerned with immediate stimulus, are heightened, while others, like awareness of one’s surroundings, are dulled. It often makes people desperate and reckless, some feel almost addicted to it.”

“I see,” she nodded, bringing both hands to his dick. 

Sherlock let a moan tumble past his lips as she formed a perfect, tight tunnel with her hands for him. She seemed to be getting a feel for his size, measuring it against her hands. Her next move was to tap her fingertips against the head of his cock while her other hand held it upright; the sharp shocks of feeling made him seize up, body unsure whether to shy away from her or chase into it. 

“That’s a sensitive area, I take it,” Enola chuckled breathlessly, making her taps gentler and gentler until she settled on rubbing the pad of her middle finger in a small circle over his slit. 

He huffed out an incredulous “yes” as he forced his body to take her ministrations. Not that they were unpleasant or unwanted; far,  _ far _ from it. But he wished to be still for her, to be good for her, and that meant keeping the rest of his body as still as possible. His hips twitched, and his breathy voice flowed uncheckered, but his hands remained at his sides and his torso remained pressed flat to the chaise. 

Enola’s curiosity was leading her to all sorts of discoveries in relation to his nether regions. She seemed determined to try out every way possible to touch him with her hands. The result was a deadly good sequence of twists, pulls, pats, squeezes, caresses, and even a few more pokes and scrapes. 

“I hope that you are fine with witnessing a man’s orgasm at your hands, because that is soon happening. Enola....” he moaned, looking at her. 

She was bent over his pelvis, working both of her hands on his cock as her big eyes drank in every inch of his aroused state. The shiny purple of her tightly wrapped bodice was dipped sinfully low, holding her breasts in a presented state as her cleavage moved with her arms. Her face was flushed, eyes bright, and she gave him a sharp look that brought him even closer to his end. 

“I’d like it to happen. Now, Sherlock.”

Her tone was teasing-surely she wasn’t expecting him to orgasm right then?-yet he couldn’t help but obey. Sherlock came with a bone-deep quake that made his toes clench and his testicles spasm. She pulled her hands away in surprise, a gasp leaving her lips, as the first spurt of white semen emerged. 

He finally moved his body, using his own hand to wring the rest of his orgasm out of his body. She watched rabidly; her right hand, with a drip of his seed on it, was held aloft over his hip bone. 

When he was finished, the look on her face was hard to describe. Or, rather, hard to summarize. There was arousal, delight, curiosity, satisfaction, eagerness, impatience, and seemingly a million other emotions rushing through her, sliding over her face like many lace veils. The main one, though, was pride. They both felt it: she had done that. She had made her big brother fall apart. 

“That was  _ very _ educational. Is it edible?” She asked him, gesturing with her  _ adorned _ hand. 

Sherlock nodded, slowly sitting up as he watched her take an exploratory lick. The expression on her face when she encountered the bitterness-or perhaps it was the texture-made him snort in a very undignified manner. 

“You did excellent with your first lesson, Enola. Absolutely excellent. I quite enjoyed myself, for one. I believe that, if you are not too tired, of course, we should hold your second lesson immediately. There needs teaching on the manual stimulation of female genitals, methinks.”

“I’m certainly not too tired,” she assured him, wiping the rest of his semen onto his stomach with a grin. “Although I do have one more question before this lesson is concluded: did I find all the pleasure points?”

“Mmm, nearly all of them. All of the usual ones, anyways. There are certain people that take pleasure from the caressing of other more mundane body parts, such as the hands or feet.”

“ _ Feet? _ ” her voice was incredulous, rising in pitch as she stared at him with slightly amused disbelief. He laughed and laughed. There was much to learn about the art of sex; namely, that it was a humorous and master-less one. 

It was lucky that the two of them were so well-fitted for the roles of student and teacher. The question was, who would end up teaching whom? 

**Author's Note:**

> Is pegging going to be a part of their sex life at some point? You bet it (it’s likely I will never write that, but go on and imagine ;)) Comment or rec or kudos or SOMETHIN if you liked it, please! I admit that the femdom (any “dom”) thing and this writing of period dialogue is not something I’m too familiar with so… feel free to reassure me ;) More of this pairing will definitely be had at some point, likely faster if I get encouragement in the way of feedback. But don’t be an ass and just demand more content, I don’t take too kindly to that! 
> 
> (if it seems like I’m a bit of an asshole or a bitch, well,... I am. This is my little page of the internet, and I’d like any interactions to be respectful to the both of us. Can’t do that if you’re rude to me. But I promise I am nice if you're nice and supporting and giving to friends)
> 
> Second part to be added sometime maybe?? Reciprocation is needed lol but I can't promise any time frame. Sunscribe to be sure


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